Liquid Courage
by Chronicleofabutterfly
Summary: What I like to think could have happened the night Olivia lost her mother. EO with more fabric softener than you could imagine for that extra fluffy feeling.


Liquid Courage

One Shot: Because writers block is simply evil…

A/N: Don't own anything related to SVU, as a matter of fact, like Kellyofthemidnightdawn says...if you recognize it...it's not mine.

Olivia Benson lay sleeping in her double bed, a satin sheet covering her slender frame adding more warmth to the camisole and bikini panties she donned before falling asleep only two hours ago. Long slender fingers lay calm just above her belly button as a tone arm is flung carelessly above her head. It's the sleep of a woman who's never known good dreams, who, if she does have time to dream, the dream usually turns into a nightmare and she wishes she'd never fallen asleep in the first place.

As the irritating chime of the alarm clock disturbs the silence that defines her. She rolls to one side extends her arm and slides the sleep bar to the left before sitting up and letting her bare feet touch the cool of the hard wood floors. She exhales deeply not bothering to look at the other side of the bed, for she knows it hasn't been occupied with the warmth of another body for almost three years. As she runs her hand through her hair and yawns, she wonders if someone capable of loving her would ever occupy her bed.

She stands to her feet knowing that it is highly improbable that a man would love someone who genetic blueprint is undefined on one side and obliterated by alcohol on the other. She smoothens out the sheet of the bed, making it as if she were never there as she wonders if it is possible that someone could love a woman forced upon her mother by her father's sin, and shamed by her mothers stinging words.

She begins the same ritual of getting ready for a job that she swears she was created and programmed for. She's robotic by nature, anal to a fault, and if she never feels the love of a man she knows that her life wouldn't change much, she's grown up without the love of a father, without the tender kiss of a mother, it can't be that hard to go through life without the sweet caresses of a husband or the ability to sustain a child's life through her breasts.

She enters the bathroom, step one in her regiment to keep her sanity, and adjusts the shower water to cold. She steps in immediately, preferring the ice cold pelting to the warm caresses of a steaming shower. She's aware of the rumors at her office, aware that people refer to her as an ice queen. As she massages the shampoo into her short hair, cut almost boyish, but on her, very sexy, she's unconcerned with the rumors, unconcerned with what they think about her.

She steps out and automatically reaches for a towel drying her body and depositing it in her hamper, she finds in unsanitary to use a towel more than once and as she completes step number two and moves to three, she stands naked in front of the sink of her bathroom and pulls out a clear Oral-B toothbrush, there's no reason to add color to it, she buys them by the box and throws it away at the end of the week.

She takes a capful of the Listerine Whitening and swishes exactly thirty-seven times, she's not exactly sure why she picked that number, but she finds that its comforting, she's _in_ control, not like when she was a child _being_ controlled. She spits and immediately rinses the sink, running water to wash the excess away.

She examines her teeth as she grins in the mirror and pulls the electric flosser from the medicine cabinet. She finds the name, 'The Hummingbird' ridiculous but she hums the same song by Cher that she has done for the last two years, she knows it's different from the Sinead O'Connor song she hums at night. She completes her task and pulls for her make up, soothing, mixing and drawing as needed.

She looks at herself, she knows that by societies standards she is good looking, but she fails to see that she is sexy; she fails to see that the curves of her body are dangerous and alluring. She decides her hair is fine, no particular need for a brush due to its length. She retreats to her bedroom unconcerned that the cool air is caressing her skin. She finds it humorous that she doesn't shiver; she thinks maybe it is quite possible that she is an Ice Queen.

She opens her closet and moves according to color, whites starting on the left and ending with the darkest blacks on the right. She trails her fingertips over the hangers, knowing full well she is going to stop on a dark burgundy or black, but because she feels a little rebellious today, she stops on a dark purple and removes the outfit from the confines of the closet draping it on her bed.

She opens the top drawer to her dresser removing one of the several pairs of black bikini underwear that has been neatly and methodically folded and placed within it. She moves to the second drawer and removes one of many black folded bras. There is something about the black that makes her feel feminine, but entirely dangerous. She clasps her bra ensuring all flesh is in the appropriate place and that her mother-afflicted scar does not show. Sliding her panties over her skin she finds that her religious attendance at the gym continues to do her good. She adjusts her panty line and dons her purple suit.

She holsters her .9mm, a tool of her trade, and knows that as soon as she does it, her body will move differently, men will look at her differently, they will challenge her instead of desire her, and perhaps that is why she loves her job, the challenge of staring down a perpetrator, of placing handcuffs on his wrists and knowing that it's one last person that can still the innocence of a child, just as hers was stolen from her. It's not about the paycheck, not even the power that comes with the shield, it's about redeeming herself for sins she can never confess because, she herself doesn't understand them, it's about atonement.

She opens the kitchen cupboard and pulls out the stack of disposable cups. She pulls off the top cup and then selects the second one and replaces the first before returning the stack next to the paper plates. She knows she is the only permanent fixture in her apartment and she has come to accept that, that will never change. She fills the cup with orange juice until it is exactly half full, she raises the cup to eye level deciding that she has poured too much and must therefore pour the excess into the sink until the desired amount is obtained.

She drinks the substance in exactly four swallows, not exactly sure why she has picked that number, but it's not about knowing fact from fallacy for her, for her, its about knowing control from weakness, knowing she is in control and not weak. She deposits the paper cup into the kitchen garbage and removes the liner to be placed in the dumpster.

She removes the keys from the hook directly to the left of the door and then replaces them realizing she has almost missed a variable in the equation that is uniquely her. She retrieves her workbag from the hall closet and then removes the keys taking her kitchen garbage with her.

She steps out of the security of her home and forces herself to be what everyone assumes is her, but she knows is not. She picks up her copy of the Wall Street Journal and tucks it under her left arm and then deposits her trash containing last nights paper plate and cup and this mornings paper cup into the trash shoot and then unfolding her newspaper.

She begins one of the last parts of her morning routine, withdrawing the stock section and folding it half under her arm before tossing the rest into the trash unconcerned with what it said.

She slides into the driver's seat of her 68' Cobra, a car she won at an auction and restored slowly through a hobby taught to her by a first boyfriend…first betrayal. She places her workbag on the passengers seat and looks up the Adidas stock so that she can answer the same question her partner asks her every morning, to which she lies. She folds the paper and places it on the dash in the same manner she has done for the past three years.

She turns the radio on to the same song she has driven to work since entering SVU. It is Smetena's, The Maldou a classical piece, which prepares her for the horrors of the job it is also the only piece that last the exact amount of time she needs to get to the first stop light from the precinct. It is at this light that the CD player will change to a harder more carefree style for the sake of onlookers. Today the words, "I don't give a damn about my reputation." Blare from her car as she parks.

She takes her work bag and drapes it over her pretending to be normal but it bothers her that it crosses her chest instead on hanging on one shoulder like she would prefer, but this is what people want to see, so this is what she will give them. She holds her stock paper folded in half in front of her as she walks into the precinct knowing the question will come. 

As she turns the corner his blue eyes meet hers and the dance of normalcy, of fallacy, begins.

"How's the stock?"

"Rose a point." She says holding up the paper. Maybe if he knew she didn't actually own stock in Adidas he would stop asking 'how's the stock?' and start saying good morning. She blames herself though, he'd said good morning to her the second day she worked with him and she didn't respond. When he asked her why she simply said she was preoccupied by her stock failure hoping to shut him up, hoping that she would sound normal.

When he asked her what stock, she had she lied not wanting to feel like she was being cornered, she had to be in control and so she responded with Adidas, and has lied every morning since then.

As she sits in her seat, she finds it odd that she does the things she does but vulnerability isn't in her vocabulary and she's not sure she wants it there.

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She finds that the case she has been assigned eats at her just as the others do, but as she reviews the security tapes with her colleagues and talks and smiles playing her façade to a tee, she is blind sided when Detective Fin informs her the captain wants to see her.

She feels a little on edge, she doesn't want to talk to him right now, she can smell the perp is close she knows her blood flows just a little faster when the perpetrators are close and she wonders if it is because she has a perpetrators blood flowing within her.

"Captain," She smiles at his door, "Can this wait, we got our guy." She informs him then sees his expression and takes a step further recognizing that something is wrong.

He tells her to close the door and when she does she takes notice of the uniformed officer in the office, out of nervousness she asks what the problem is, she scans her mind and wonders if her partner has crossed the line again and lost his temper, she wonders if she is going to have to bail him out with her skills of articulation.

When her Captain tells her there has been an accident, she thinks immediately of her partner, she hasn't seen Elliot since she started working the case that morning and since he is the only one she has allowed remotely close to her, she is the only one she thinks she would be bothered by tragedy with.

She crams her hands in her pocket and tells the Captain to tell her what the problem is. She doesn't' like that she's not in control, she doesn't' like that she has to wait for someone else to tell her that her partner is dead, but when he tells her that her mother has fallen down a flight of subway stairs she is immediately relieved that there has been no harm done to her partner and she can continue admiring him from afar.

But, it is when her Captain informs her that her mother has died from her injuries, that she feels that her control has been ruthlessly snatched from her. She struggles to keep her composure and informs the Captain that there must be some mistake, that her mother doesn't take the subway. After her desperate attempt to explain that the uniform officer next to her must have made a mistake, her Captain informs her that her mother was drunk.

And so, her composure is shattered into oblivion, and the creature she has fought desperately to avoid showing displays itself allowing a tear to fall. In a moment she has been annihilated.

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She hates going out, she finds that it disrupts her rhythm, but after her partner learned of her mother's demise, he insisted that she go out with him and two of her other colleagues. She takes a deep breath knowing the night will consist of pimp jokes from Fin and JFK theories from Munch. She's not sure if it's normal to go out on the same day you find that your mother has died, but then again, she knows that, that which flows through her, makes her anything but normal.

She pulls the top pair of jeans from her third drawer, knowing that out of the six pairs of identical jeans she owns, she will only wear this particular pair. She slides them over her frame securing them properly and dons a white t-shirt. Simplicity is what she needs, no room for complication. She slips on her Adidas shoes just as she hears the knock at the door.

She smiles, knowing that the person on the other side is the only one capable of making her smile a genuine grin and she finds her self surprised that she's fine with giving him control of her smile.

"Elliot," her lips begin to curl, "where are we headed?" she asks locking her door, unwilling to allow him entrance into her home that is void of pictures, void of personality save her satin sheets that evoke a since of eroticism within her.

"Well," he smiles resting his hand on the small of her back, an act that she still hasn't been able to assign intent too, but is willing to accept it nonetheless because she knows no one else would want to touch her if they knew. He knew and he touched her, looked _at_ her and not _through_ her, smiled _because_ of her and not as a result of her, "I thought we could go to The Onyx…its karaoke night and I know how you love to make fun of the drunken singers." He smiles.

She's almost uncomfortable with how much he knows about her, her likes and dislikes, but if he knew she felt more for him than the rules allowed she believes his touch would cease, his smile would be void, and the control of her grin that she has given him, would be painfully returned.

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Olivia finds herself laughing at the man who is singing a very bad rendition of a Backstreet Boys song, and the fact that he has consumed too much alcohol isn't helping his inability to hold a note.

She listens to her partner and friends talk about work, JFK, and pimps and she wonders if she might be psychic, she disregards the thought as another equally bad male takes the stage and picks a horrible song. She finds that Fin and Munch have went to the bar to pick up drinks and she hopes that they remember she wont touch alcohol…she had to live with it too long.

She feels her eyes darken as she remembers how the broken bottle felt when it cut into her chest. She finds that she feels torn between relief and sadness that her mother has died. She's relieved that she will never be called unwanted by a woman who was suppose to nurture her, but she's sad that it is now impossible that she will ever hear her mother tell her she has made her proud.

"Olivia." Elliot speaks up pulling her out of her own thoughts, "I know you're hurting, if you need to talk, I'm here to listen." He assured her as he reaches out and covers her hand. She wonders if he can feel the sudden burst of heat that her body is giving off.

"There's nothing to talk about." She assures him.

"Olivia, you forget that I know your story," he smiles softly, "I know how she hurt you, I know you must be torn right now."

She must deflect, "You seem to be all knowing."

He withdraws his touch as if her sarcasm has burned him. She feels a momentary since of shame for pushing him away but there is nothing more she can do, she would rather feel the warmth of a man that doesn't necessarily love her than the pity of a man that she wants to love.

"I'll listen when you're ready to talk." He reminds her just as Fin and Munch return setting clear soda down in front of Olivia and a beer in front of Elliot.

"Someone should shoot that guy." Munch says peering over his glasses at yet another hopeless singer. "Don't they screen these shmucks?"

"That's why it's called karaoke." Fin smacked his lips in irritation.

Olivia suddenly surprises the group when she stops the waitress that is walking by, "Can you bring me a bottle of tequila and a shot glass please?"

"Sure thing." The waitress responds and walks away to retrieve her requested items.

"I thought you didn't drink?" Fin asks a question that Elliot didn't want to broach.

"I don't." She shrugs her shoulders, "But I'm feeling rebellious today." She smiles. The fact of the matter is, she knows she shouldn't have worn purple, she deviated from her regiment and it has screwed with her entire day. However, secretly, she knows that's not the case at all, she knows that she is dying inside, she is now completely alone and she's not so sure she'll make it.

The tequila has arrived and she knows the men are starring at her as she pours the liquid courage she needs to get through this night. She knows she should have stayed home, should have stayed on her regiment, she's missed the gym by coming here and that can only lead to more chaos.

She finds that the singers don't sound as bad…after the fifth shot, she's not drunk, which she finds surprising, perhaps the alcoholic blood that runs through her somehow makes her just a little more immune to the substance. She's not drunk but she's is just a little more ballzy than normal, she's forsaken the reigns of her control for the nectar in front of her.

When the singer that has made half of the room wince finally takes his seat next to his drunken comrades, Olivia suddenly stands, the alcohol has become a bit in her mouth and she's not entirely sure she's the one at the reigns. In fact, she suddenly is aware that it is anger, hurt, and shame that is driving her to make decisions she wouldn't otherwise allow herself.

"Olivia," Elliot stand to his feet to stop her from making a fool of her self, "Come on your drunk."

"I am not." She protests. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't she couldn't care less.

"Olivia, come on, lets get you home, we can talk." He tries to usher her out and his touch suddenly infuriates her as she pushes his hand away, "You want a damn answer from me?"

"What?" he furrows his brow, "What are you talking about?"

"You want me to tell you my hurt Elliot? You want to play shrink for the night?" she antagonizes him, "Fine!" She snaps and walks to the stage.

"Uh oh." Fin arcs his brow.

"I hope she's drunk enough that she doesn't remember this tomorrow." Munch smirks.

"Why the hell is she so stubborn?" Elliot mumbles scrubbing his hands over his face.

"She's scared." Fin shrugs his shoulders watching Olivia tell the M.C which song she plans to sing.

"How do you know?" Elliot furrows his brow.

"Come on man, look at her, she's alone, she's afraid." He tells him as if Elliot should have already picked up on it.

"How come you and her have never hooked up?" Munch asks clearly out of the blue.

Elliot blushes and took the Corona away from Munch, "I think you've had too much."

"She's got a thing for you." Munch responds.

"Shut up." Elliot tells him, then arcs his brow, "Who told you that?"

"Oh please," Fin rolls his eyes, "You blind or just stupid?"

"What?"

"Come on, you're the only one she even remotely trusts, she confides in you things that she'd never tell us…I see the way you move around her…stop being an ass and start paying attention to her." Munch advises.

"Thank you Mr. Twice Divorced." Elliot shakes his head.

"You'd better pay attention to her Elliot, or you'll loose her as more than just a partner…she's not gonna be able to get through this alone…you know what she went through." Munch reminds him just as Olivia takes the mic.

"Hey Gorgeous!" A man from one of the front tables yells and whistles causing her to blush.

"Hey," Fin laughs, "Benson's blushing…never thought I'd see that."

"Maybe alcohol knocks some of the chill off of her." Munch laughs only to feel Elliot slap the back of his head.

"Shut up, John." Elliot snarls and was about to say something else when the most sensual sound he'd ever had the pleasure of hearing resonated in his ears. All three men look at Olivia as she caresses the microphone and closes her eyes, producing a steady note that serves as an introduction to the song before she bleeds out her soul to an audience she doesn't know or care to know save one man in particular. If he wanted an answer, if he wanted to understand her pain she would show it to him.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did  
I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery  
I will not break, the way you did, you fell so hard  
I've learned the hard way to never let it get that far

Fin leans over and whispers in shock to Munch, "Did you know she could do that?"

"No." Munch shakes his head in equal shock and looks at Elliot.

"You holding out on us?" Munch asks over his glasses.

"I had no idea." Elliot whispers and then shushes them both, realizing that she is trying to tell him something that she can't tell him face to face, that she can't express in normal conversation. Not that any conversation with Olivia is ever normal. _Because of you I never strayed too far from the sidewalk  
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt  
Because of you I find it hard to trust, not only me,  
but everyone around me, Because of you, I am afraid _

He realizes that she's not speaking of him, she's speaking of her mother, a mother that had taken everything from her as a child and subsequently left her void as a woman. He realizes she's telling him she has no concept of love, she doesn't allow herself to feel, she takes no risks, plays everything by the book; because, it's not just _others _she doesn't trust, she doesn't trust _herself_. She knows what's in her veins, and as a result, she surrounds herself with impenetrable defenses designed as strength, skill, finesse and control. __

I lose my way, and its not too long before you point it out  
I cannot cry, because I know that's weakness in your eyes  
I'm forced to fake a smile, a laugh, every day of my life  
My heart can't possibly break, when it wasn't even whole to start with 

He realizes now why she _can't_ show weakness, why she embraces fearlessness and knows no bounds when she is in pursuit of sociopath; she has no understanding of what it means to loose everything because, she's never had anything. He realizes that its not that she's cold, she's just never experienced warmth. He realizes now that the smile she gives others is not the same smile she gives him and he wonders which is real. If the smile she gives him is real than is it possible that…she feels the same thing for him…that he has felt for her the moment he saw her? _  
_  
_I watched you die, I heard you cry, every night in your sleep.  
I was so young, you should have known better than to lean on me.  
You never thought of anyone else you just saw your pain.  
And now I cry in the middle of the night, doing the same damn thing_

He has no concept of what it must have been like for Olivia to care for a drunken mother. He can't fathom what is must have felt for her to hear her mother cry in her sleep because she was unable to work through the fact that she was raped…He has no idea of what it must have felt like for Olivia to know she was the result of a horrible event, and that she was a constant, painful reminder of that event.

_  
Because of you I never strayed to far from the sidewalk   
Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_  
_Because of you I try my hardest just to forget everything  
Because of you I don't know how to let anyone else in _

He finally understands what she has been trying to tell him for the last three years, he finally understands that she doesn't understand _how_ to give up her control that by her confession she is asking for him to break her. He understands that she's a beautiful mess. __

Because of you I'm ashamed of my life, because its empty  
Because of you, I am afraid 

He watches her, watches her struggle to keep her voice from cracking, not because she can't sing, the silence in the bar, tells everyone she can, but she's struggling to keep her emotion at bay. She's Olivia Benson in the rawest form imaginable. He wants to tell her that there is no reason to be ashamed, he needs to tell her that her life isn't empty and he can take away her fear.

He turns to see that Munch and Fin have actually left and he wonders why, but is distracted when Olivia's voice softens indicating the song's end is near. He turns back to see that her head has tilted into the opposite direction but her eyes have remained closed as a single tear has made it's way down her cheek.

_  
Because of you  
Because of you_

Before he can stand to his feet she has ended the song and the bar has erupted into a standing ovation that blocks his view from her. He knows she is walking off the stage and he knows that she can't hear him as he shouts her name into the crowd. By the time he makes his way to the stage, she has disappeared.

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Olivia steps into her home, starting her regiment that she hopes will bring back some normalcy to her life. She's just had the carpet pulled out from under her and she still doesn't understand why she wishes her mother were still alive. Her mother who refused to love her, who was incapable of encouraging her, and who on more than several occasions had beaten her so severely she thought she wouldn't make it through the actual act.

She places her bag in the hall closet and hangs her keys on the hook. She deposits her sneakers in the closet and stands near her hamper slipping her socks off and depositing them in the left side of the hamper. She grabs her t-shirt by the collar and pulls it up overhead before tossing it into the whites only bin. She shimmies out of her jeans tossing them into the colored side and removing her panties and bra she places them on top of the jeans.

She runs the shower water to cold and sees the woman starring at her in the mirror. She traces that scar on her chest with her fingertip and remembers the night her own mother cut her, she remembers how she had to pick the glass shards out of her skin before going to the hospital to get stitches so the doctors wouldn't know she was attacked. She also remembers the overwhelming desire she had to kill her own mother that night. She remembers what it felt like to kick her repeatedly until she simply slid down the wall…she remembers the desire to kill that which had already killed her.

Stepping into the shower she finds that her control is slowly returning to her, ritual by ritual she is feeling slightly better. She rinses her hair and body, steps out into the chill of the night air and withdraws a clean towel using it and depositing it in the towel hamper, unable to bring her self to combine clothing with linen. She finds that these rituals are exhausting her but, at the same time, they are the only things that sustain her.

Within minutes she has an impeccably clean mouth and is clad in black underwear that she soon places flannel pajama bottoms over and hides her naked breast and telling scar under the softness of a camisole.

She pulls a case file off of kitchen table and sits on her couch. It's as she opens it that she hears a knock at the door. She eyes the clock; it's far too late for visitors. She looks at her cell phone; there have been no missed calls. She walks back into her room as the knock comes again. She retrieves her gun and chambers the potential energy in contains. The knock comes again as she makes her way to the door.

She looks through the peephole only to find that it is still cracked and she can't see through it. She disengages the safety and holds the gun at her side as she opens the door.

"Elliot?" She furrows her brow and engages the safety.

Elliot hears the click and looks down, "What's with the piece?"

"It's late…I wasn't expecting anyone." She tells him still not willing to grant him entrance into her home. She doesn't like people in her home, it says too much about her, the lack of pictures tells people she has no family, the lack of color shows she has no passion and the lack anything permanent says she shies away from commitment.

"You know," Elliot takes a step closer, "I've waited on your door step for three years now…you ever gonna invite me in?"

"No." She says as shortly as possible, but she knows her eyes are telling him a different story.

Elliot takes a step further, he's crossed her threshold and he is in her territory, not entirely sure he knows what that entails. He's braced himself for the wrath that is uniquely Olivia, for the stare that could make Satan himself cringe, but when she simply steps to the side he walks in and is shocked by the simplicity that is the complex woman he knows.

The floors look as though no one walks on them and he is compelled to take his shoes off. She closes the door and walks past him, depositing her weapon back in her nightstand and then returning to him. "What do you need?" She asks not willing to accept that fact that he is there tonight for her, surely he is there for his self.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"So talk." She tells him shortly looking at the clock, "It's late and my day has already been pretty long." She reminds him.

"You don't normally drink."

"I'm not drunk." She snaps back.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he says softly closing the gap between them.

"I talk to you every day." She reminds him walking away and retrieving two bottles of water, tossing him one and uncapping the other for herself.

"About nothing." He informs her.

"Oh," She arcs her brows "Sorry I'm not more entertaining."

In a moment of frustration, he slams his hand on the counter, "Damnit Olivia."

She narrows her eyes at him and calmly recaps her water; "Do not raise your voice at me in this apartment."

He smiles at her knowing they are going to get into a fight that will either break her or break them. "You can't even call it home, can you?"

"What?" she rolls her eyes, "Save me the lecture, Stabler."

"Elliot." He states his name as a correction.

"Excuse me."

"When you want to pretend like your not hurting, when you want to pretend like what I'm not saying doesn't hit you…you call me Stabler." He tells her as he takes a step closer to her, "My name is Elliot."

"Well, _Elliot_." She says undaunted, "I've been polite, go home." She tells him walking away.

"No."

"No?" she turns back to him and furrows her brow, "Get. Out. Now."

Elliot sets the bottle of water she's handed him down, and he steps nose to nose with her, "I. Said. No."

He turns and looks around the apartment that looks as if no one truly lives there. "You're scared."

"I'm not." She protested.

"You're scared to call this home because you're alone…and you think it's permanent." He says calmly. He looks at the walls and notices they're bare, "You don't hang pictures because you're afraid no one loves you enough to consider you family."

"I don't know how much you had to drink Elliot, but you've got no idea what you're talking about."

He takes a closer look at the apartment, there is no dish strainer, or dishwasher, he makes his way to the kitchen and opens the cabinets, "Liv, there's nothing here." He tells her, shocked to see her supply of paper plates, disposable bowls and cups.

He moves to the refrigerator and opens the freezer; he sees that she has only one type of T.V. dinners. He opens the bottom unit and sees only bottles of water and cartons of orange juice, "Liv, when's the last time you went shopping."

"What the hell does it matter?" she snapped irritated that he felt the freedom to go through her apartment. "Go home Elliot." She tells him again.

"No." he tells her softly as he makes his way to her bathroom startled by the sterility of it. There are no hard water spots on the shower door, there is no buildup on the wall, the toilet lid is down, the floor is bare and spotless, the counter top is immaculate.

"You've got no right to go through my things, Elliot." She tells him in frustration.

He turns to her and holds up a pair of eyeglasses, "Who's are these?" He asks in curiosity.

"They're mine." She snaps and snatched them from him, "Not that it's any of you're concern." She reminds him.

"Why don't you wear them?" he asks with a small smile unconcerned that with each question he was pissing her off more and more.

"I wear contacts at work," she exhaled and ran her hand through her hair, "and I wear these in the apartment…is that okay with you?" she asked unconcerned if it actually was.

"Put them on." He encouraged her.

"What…no! Go home Damnit."

"Put them on." He tells her again.

She shakes her head in anger and puts the brown-framed glasses on, "Friggin satisfied you ass?"

"Your beautiful." He whispers.

She's taken back by the remark and she instinctively protects herself, "Oh shut the hell up, Elliot." She tells him as she takes the glasses off and tosses them back on the counter.

"Why don't you believe me?" he asks following her into her room.

"Hello!" She turns to him, shocked that he would enter her room without asking for her consent, "Get out."

"No." He smiles again and opens her closet, "You're a neat freak." He tells her taking a white blouse and placing it between two black blouses.

"What the hell are you doing?" she snaps taking a shirt from him only to have him take it back. He takes a black shirt and tosses it on the ground.

"Sonovabitch!" She snaps, "That's dry clean only Elliot!" she moves to pick up the shirt and is stopped when his hand covers hers and removes the shirt from her grasp tossing it back on the floor.

"Leave it." He instructs her and looks around the room for the next thing he can do to make her loose control. That's his purpose. He wants her to snap.

He smiles at her and moves to her dresser, "What's in here?"

"Most people would assume clothes." She responds sarcastically.

He opens the top drawer, "That's my underwear drawer you freak, what the hell has gotten into you?" she yells.

He holds up a pair of perfectly folded black underwear, "You fold your underwear, and I'm the freak?" he arched his brow and then made a perfect disaster of her once perfectly folded undergarments.

"Bras and socks would be here then?" he says opening the next drawer and spreading it's contents onto the floor. "Let's see," he talks to himself opening the next, "Oh, Levi's…I always think you look really good in the ones that hug your hips like the ones you wore tonight," he says matter of factly as she stands with balled fists at her side, "you've got great hips Liv, you should wear these." He told her taking them out of the drawer.

"I do wear them, you nosey ass hole!"

"Then why are the tags still on them, you control freak?"

"What did you just call me?"

"You heard me." He smiled and walked to back to her restroom.

"Say it again!" She hollers following him back only to have him close the restroom door on her.

"Sorry, I got to use the potty." He says in a playful tone that is making her blood boil.

"When you're done, get the hell out of the apartment!" She shouts pounding on the door. She hears the toilet flush, and then the sink water start and then…"Are you brushing your teeth?" she pounds on the door again.

Elliot opens the door as he brushes his teeth, "Yeah…problem?" He smiles through the build up of foam around his lips.

"Problem!" She shouts with wide eyes, "That's my damn toothbrush!" She barks pulling it out of his mouth and tossing it into the wastebasket.

"That was rude." He quipped.

"What the fu-"

"What's this?" He cuts her off holding up the electric flosser.

"Don't you dare!" she growls and is certain she's about to have a heart attack as he begins to floss his teeth.

"Wow," he mumbles, "This is pretty cool." He smiles and then spits into the sink purposely not running the water.

"Your spotting the sink!" she stomps her feet.

"Don't worry," he smiles taking the lid off of the mouth rinse "I'm gonna rinse right now." He tells her taking a gulp straight from the bottle and swishing it less than five seconds before spitting in the sink and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, "Better?" he asks.

She stares at him, and he can see it in her eyes, she's about to kill him, "You're a really beautiful woman, you know that, Liv?"

In a split second she slapped him…twice. He swallowed, trying to suppress the sting on both of his cheeks as he saw the tears stream down hers, "What are you feeling right now?"

"What?" She whispers hoarsely, "Are you kidding me?"

He takes a step closer to her, "Why would I kid?"

"Why would you totally thrash the apartment?"

"To make you realize your not a robot, to make you realize that you _do feel_, and that its okay to feel…that it's okay to loose control." He spoke softly.

"No its not." She shakes her head and walks away from him.

"It's okay-"

"What!" She barks running her hand over her short hair, "What the hell do you know about me that you think its okay?"

"I know that you don't own Adidas stock," he tells her softly as he positions himself behind her, "I know that you think loosing control, means you're weak." He tells her resting his hands cautiously on her hips, "I know that you keep your house sterile because you think that by hanging a picture or putting dishes in the cabinet, that your loneliness will be permanent."

She slides his hands off of her waist, his touch is too much for her, but when she tries to walk away he pulls her back and caresses her cheek softly looking at her eyes that are desperately trying not to tell her secrets, "Why are you scared?" he whispers.

She finds herself surprised that a whispered question and a simple touch is all it took for him to get past her once finely tuned defenses, she leans into his touch and for a split second allows herself to think that this is a possibility, but then her reality strikes, she pulls away and looks down, "I'm not worthy."

He tips her chin up but she refuses to look at him, "Look at me Olivia."

"I can't."

He caresses her face and forces her to look at him, "What aren't you worthy of?"

She blinks and feels the moisture escape from her eyes, "Anything."

"Be specific." He tells her. He wants her to voice her fears so that he can expel them.

She tries to look away but he holds her still, she swallows, "Of touch," she whispers, "Acceptance, love…anything…everything."

He runs his hand through her short and still damp hair, "Close your eyes."

"No."

"Close them." He tells her again more firmly, "Trust is paramount."

"I don't believe in trust."

"Close your eyes." He tells her running his fingertips over her eyelids until he knows she has complied.

"What are you doing?" she asks softly. Scared that this is some cosmic trick like her entire life.

"Only I can say who is worthy of my touch," he whispers softly, "and who isn't." he tells her as he kisses the moisture just under her eyes.

She pulls away slowly but doesn't open her them, "Why are you doing this? Why are you here?"

He pulls her back to him and kisses her forehead gently, "I was attracted to you the first day I met you, I've cared so much for you." He whispered kissing the new tears that showed themselves, "But tonight," he grazed her lips with his resting his hand from her cheek to her neck, "tonight, I fell in love with you." He confessed kissing her gently.

"I don't believe in love." She whispered, discovering that she has since found her way to his forearms, holding on to him, not wanting him to leave.

"Because you've never known it." He tells her softly, "I'm going to show you that I love you, that I accept you and that there is no place I'd rather be than in your arms."

"I've got nothing to offer you."

"Let me decide what you have to offer me." He tells her taking her lower lip into his and sipping from her softly, "I have no desire to hurt you Olivia." He reminds her, "I have no desire to make you feel ashamed of you're life." He traces her lips with the tip of his tongue, "I have every desire to show you that you're a woman capable of love," he whispers kissing her along the contour of her jaw, "You're a sexy woman, capable of being made love to."

He's slightly surprised to feel her hands rest on his hips as he caresses her neck with his tongue, sucking gently on her chin and kissing her, finally sliding his tongue into her mouth and gently exploring her for the first time. Feeling the brokenness that she fought so hard to keep hidden, the fear that she refused to let show. He pulled away slowly to let her see him, to let her know he meant everything he said, but she followed his lips, and took him back into her mouth, allowing her self to moan only slightly, barely audible, but he felt the vibrations in his lips.

He smiles against her lips and breaks the kiss as he rests his hands at the small of her back, he rubs his thumb along the flesh there and smiles that she still hasn't opened her eyes. He grazes his thumb lightly over her clothed nipple and watches as her breath hitches and she rolls her head back allowing her lips to part. He pulls her camisole up and over her bed throwing it where ever it decides to land. He kisses her neck softly, nips gently at her collarbone and cups her breast with the warmth of his hand.

"Why do you want to touch me?" She whispers still unwilling to open her eyes, as if the moment might disappear if she did.

"Because," he lowers his lips to her ears, "I want to feel you." He whispers massaging her nipple with his thumb, "I want you to know what it means to be touched…to be loved."

She rests her forehead on his shoulder as he traces the strength of her back, the line of her spine is perfect, the plain of her shoulder blades are erotic and he finds himself smiling as she continues to rest her head and unbutton his shirt slowly, he feels as if she may be assuring herself that he won't hurt her with every button she undoes and so, he's willing to let her go at her own pace.

She straightens her body, eyes still unprepared to take in the scene before her, she slides his shirt off of his body and traces his form delicately, she memorizing him taking note of a scar that is just above his hip, she traces it softly with her fingertip and feels his fingertips on her own scar. She wants to see his face but can't force herself to open her eyes, she wants to tell him what its from but her mouth won't open.

She lowers her hand and allows it to hang on his waistband, his touch is too gentle and she doesn't know what to do. He traces the expanse of the mangled scar just above her breast and she finds that her tears fall more freely as she covers his searching hand with hers.

He understands what she's trying to tell him, it's too intense for her, so he lowers his hand to her breast, kisses her neck and sucks softly at the base, making his way down the exact center of her body caressing with both lips and tongue as he kneels in front of her. He feels her hands about his face, feels her give up her personal boundaries to let him in. She rests her palms on his shoulders and feels his hands pull her flannel pants off of her waist kissing her abdomen and grazing the back of her thighs as he lowers the material past her knees and her calves.

He takes note that her skin is as soft as he always thought it would be, and when he trails his hands back up her body he feels her body shudder. He kisses her delicately on the naval and pulls the black material down eliciting the same response he did before. He stands and kisses her again tasting her and exploring her as he feels her hands unbuckle his pants and unzip the zipper slowly.

"Why do you want me, when you can have anyone?" she asks still preferring the security of closed eyes.

"Because," he pulls her close to him, letting her feel what her proximity is doing to her, "you're the one I want."

She lowers his pants and boxers and is surprised when he holds her tightly against his body allowing his chest to mesh with the softness of hers, allowing the steady breathing of his abdomen to collide with the rapid breathing of hers as he gently lowers her onto the bed.

She arched her body feeling his length rest against her warmth, he sees her body turn flush, sees her nipples turn taught and smiles that she can't keep her body on the mattress as she arches into him, desire inscribed in her motions, she may not know how to voice what she was feeling, but her body's language tells him what her lips can't.

He rubs into her, lubricating himself with her own oils, sipping from her lips, "I want to be inside of you." He breathes over her lips.

She offers no reply but raises her hips to his and arches her neck for him to kiss. He rests him self at her entrance, and interlaces his fingers with hers stretching himself over her body and resting their hands just above her head, "Look at me."

"No." she shakes her head softly.

"Look at me." He tells her again, rubbing into her slightly harder and kissing her lips, "Open you're eyes Olivia."

"I can't." she protests clutching his hands.

"I want to see you're eyes when I enter you…look at me." He kissed her again and waited for her to look at him. He could see her eyes shifting under her lids, she was thinking of the consequences of opening them, of the possibility that this was her imagination, she opens them slowly and sees him smiling above her.

He watches her eyes settle on his and pushes gently into her, hearing her faint moan and exhalation of air as he crosses her boundaries, destroys her walls, and obliterates her defenses. He moves their interwoven hands to either side of her body and watches her eyes dilate in front of him, watches her will her body to accept him, watches her force her muscles to relax as he fell deeper into her.

He smiles once he body has calmed down, "Hi." He whispers against her lips.

"Hi." She responds with a gentle kiss and then a whimper as he pulls out only to plummet back into her.

She turns her face from him, feels his mouth about her neck as he moves over her, covering her with himself, offering her everything he has in hopes that she will one day offer herself to him. With each thrust and spiral motion he disintegrates any chance of her walls every being rebuilt to keep him out.

She clutches his hands and her legs bend under him offering him more of herself, it's a moment of vulnerability for her, to offer him more, when she feels she has nothing to offer in the first place.

He feels her legs tighten against his side and sees the contortion of passion in her face as she climaxes, he smiles that she makes every effort not to scream, she's holding back but he wants to set her free.

"Let me hear you come." He whispers, "Come with me." He tells her moving faster within her, feeling her body rise off of the sheets as she digs her nails into his back. She locks her ankles around his waist and starts to come quietly again.

Deciding since she wouldn't scream voluntarily, he would give her no other option, he pulls her up immediately, letting her sit in his lap, he lifts her gently and allows her to fall down on him. He caresses the slope of her derriere and pushes himself deeper into her hearing her moan, he moves faster, feeling the friction in his own body, he reaches between their bodies and rubbs her gently as he continues to move faster until her moan turned into a scream, she tries to kiss him, to muffle the sound of her voice, but her turns his face, "Let me hear you." He whispers thrusting harder against her, she holds onto him trying to suppress the scream but, finally felt it rip through her as she buried her forehead into his neck, crying out her own release as he soon followed.

She panted against him, out of breath and energy, only to feel his hand graze her and massage her already sensitive core again, she whimpers at the contact, tries to get away, but found her strength lacking, as he makes her come again, she screams biting into his shoulder to muffle it. He winces feeling her teeth against his flesh and continues to move over her, holding her hips against his finger as he she continues to whimper until she has nothing more.

He leans back allowing her to lay over him until he slips out of her safety. He rolls her onto her side and looks at her intently, exchanging a kiss and gentle caress. She fights sleep, finding it ironic that she didn't want to open her eyes, and now she didn't want to close them. She falls asleep against him, his arms securely around her body as he gives himself over to the night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Olivia Benson lay asleep in her bed, rough hands possessively caressing her abdomen, her slender hands resting over them. It's the rest of a woman who has been shattered by the touch of the man next to her. It's the sleep of a woman who, in a single day, has been destroyed by a death and reawakened with a caress.

As the irritating chime of the alarm rips through her peaceful sleep she extends her arm and slides the sleep bar to the left, turning in the embrace of the man next to her. She knows now that the words her mother spoke over her life pale in comparison to the man next to her. She knows that she has just experienced love.

She bends her elbow and rests her head on her palm starring down at the peaceful creature next to her. She rests her palm on his chest and gently kisses his mouth. She watches as he stirs into wakefulness and smiles when his eyes meet hers. "You're beautiful." He whispers.

She blushes and kisses him again, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me believe it."

He laughs softly and then looks at the alarm clock, "Any particular reason why you're up so early on our day off?" he asks kissing her neck and lips with a gentleness that she now knows she can't possibly live without.

"I was wondering," she speaks softly tracing his lips with her finger, "If maybe you'd come with me to get a picture for my apartment?"

He kisses her softly again, "And some dishes?"

She bites her bottom lip and takes it into consideration, then smiles, "Yeah."

A/N: Guess what boys and girls...I didn't write that song...I know hard to believe itsn't it? LOL It belongs to Kelly Clarkson entitled Because of You...so don't sue. LOL


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